Puss-in-Boots
Figaro here; Figaro, there, I tell you! Figaro upstairs, Figaro downstairs
and - oh, my goodness me, this little Figaro can slip into my lady's
chamber smart as y o u like at any time whatsoever that he takes the fancy
for, don't y o u k n o w , he's a cat of the w o r l d , cosmopolitan, sophisticated;
he can tell w h e n a furry friend is the Missus' best c o m p a n y . For w h a t lady
in all the w o r l d could say 'no' to the passionate yet toujours discret
advances of a fine marmalade cat? (Unless it be her eyes incontinently
o v e r f l o w at the slightest w h i f f of furr, w h i c h happened once, as y o u shall
hear.)
A torn, sirs, a ginger torn and proud of it. Proud of his fine, white
shirtfront that dazzles harmoniously against his orange and tangerine
tessellations (oh! w h a t a fiery suit of lights have I); proud of his birdentrancing eye and m o r e than military whiskers; proud, to a fault, some
say, of his fine, musical voice. A l l the w i n d o w s in the square fly open
w h e n I break into i m p r o m p t u song at the spectacle of the m o o n above
Bergamo. If the poor players in the square, the sullen rout of ragged trash
that haunts the provinces, are rewarded with a hail of pennies w h e n they
set up their makeshift stage and start their raucous choruses; then h o w
m u c h more liberally do the citizens deluge me w i t h pails of the freshest
water, vegetables hardly spoiled and, occasionally, slippers, shoes and
boots.
Do y o u see these fine, high, shining leather boots of mine? A y o u n g
cavalry officer made me the tribute of, first one; then, after I celebrate his
generosity w i t h a fresh obbligato, the m o o n no fuller than my heart w h o o p s ! I n i m b l y spring aside - d o w n comes the other. Their high heels
will click like castanets w h e n Puss takes his promenade upon the tiles, for
my song recalls flamenco, all cats have a Spanish tinge although Puss
himself elegantly lubricates his virile, muscular, native Bergamasque
w i t h French, since that is the only language in w h i c h y o u can purr.
' Merrrrrrrrrrci!'
Instanter I draw my n e w boots on over the natty w h i t e stockings that
terminate my hinder legs. T h a t y o u n g man, observing w i t h curiosity by
moonlight the use to w h i c h I put his footwear, calls out: ' H e y , Puss! Puss,
there!'
' A t y o u r service, sir!'
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' U p t o m y balcony, y o u n g Puss!'
He leans out, in his nightshirt, offering encouragement as I s w i n g
succinctly up the façade, f o r e p a w s on a curly cherub's pate, hindpaws
on a stucco wreath, bring t h e m up to meet y o u r forepaws while, first
p a w f o r w a r d , hup! on to the stone n y m p h ' s tit; left p a w d o w n a bit, the
satyr's b u m should do the trick. N o t h i n g to it, once y o u k n o w h o w ,
rococo's no problem. Acrobatics? B o r n to them; Puss can perform a
back somersault whilst holding aloft a glass of vino in his right p a w and
never spill a drop.
B u t , to my shame, the f a m o u s death-defying triple somersault en
plein air, that is, in middle air, that is, unsupported and w i t h o u t a safety
net, I, Puss, have never yet attempted though often I have dashingly
brought o f f the double tour, to the applause of all.
' Y o u strike me as a cat of parts,' says this y o u n g man w h e n I'm
arrived at his w i n d o w s i l l . I made h i m a handsome genuflection, rump
out, tail up, head d o w n , to facilitate his friendly chuck under my chin;
and, as involuntary free gift, my natural, my habitual smile.
For all cats have this particularity, each and every one, f r o m the
meanest alley sneaker to the proudest, whitest she that ever graced a
p o n t i f f ' s pillow - we have our smiles, as it were, painted on. T h o s e
small, cool, quiet M o n a Lisa smiles that smile we must, no matter
whether it's been fun or it's been not. So all cats have a politician's air;
we smile and smile and so they think w e ' r e villains. But, I note, this
y o u n g man is something of a smiler hisself.
'A sandwich,' he offers. ' A n d , perhaps, a snifter of b r a n d y . '
His lodgings are poor, t h o u g h he's handsome e n o u g h and even en
déshabillé, nightcap and all, there's a neat, smart, dandified air about
him. Here is one w h o k n o w s w h a t ' s what, thinks I; a man w h o keeps up
appearances in the bedchamber can never embarrass y o u out of it. A n d
excellent beef sandwiches; I relish a lean slice of roast beef and early
learned a taste for spirits, since I started life as a w i n e - s h o p cat, hunting
cellar rats for my keep, before the w o r l d sharpened my wits enough to
let me live by them.
A n d the upshot of this midnight interview? I'm engaged, on the spot,
as Sir's valet: valet de chambre and, f r o m time to time, his b o d y servant,
for, w h e n funds are running l o w , as they must do for every gallant
officer w h e n the pickings fall off, he pawns the quilt, doesn't he. T h e n
faithful Puss curls up on his chest to keep him w a r m at night. A n d if he
don't like me to knead his nipples, which, out of the purist affection and
the desire - ouch! he says - to test the retractability of my claws, I do in
m o m e n t s of absence of mind, then w h a t other valet could slip into a
y o u n g girl's sacred privacy and deliver her a billet-doux at the very
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m o m e n t w h e n she's reading her prayerbook w i t h her sainted mother? A
task I once or t w i c e p e f o r m for him, to his infinite gratitude.
A n d , as y o u will hear, b r o u g h t him at last to the best of fortunes for us
all.
So Puss got his post at the same time as his boots and I dare say the
Master and I have m u c h in c o m m o n for he's proud as the devil, touchy as
tin-tacks, lecherous as liquorice and, t h o u g h I say it as loves him, as
quick-witted a rascal as ever put on clean linen.
W h e n times w e r e hard, I'd pilfer the market for breakfast - a herring,
an orange, a loaf; we never w e n t hungry. Puss served h i m well in the
g a m i n g salons, too, for a cat m a y m o v e f r o m lap to lap w i t h impunity and
cast his eye o v e r any hand of cards. A cat can j u m p on the dice - he can't
resist to see it roll! p o o r thing, mistook it for a bird; and, after I've been,
limp-spined, stiff-legged, playing the silly buggers, scooped up to be
chastised, w h o can r e m e m b e r h o w the dice fell in the first place?
A n d we had, besides, less . . . gentlemanly means of maintenance
w h e n they closed the tables to us, as, churlishly, they sometimes did. I'd
perform my little Spanish dance while he w e n t around with his hat: olé!
B u t he only put my l o y a l t y and affection to the test of this humiliation
w h e n the cupboard w a s as bare as his backside; after, in fact, he'd sunk
so l o w as to p a w n his drawers.
So all w e n t right as ninepence and y o u never saw such boon
companions as Puss and his master; until the man must needs go fall in
love.
'Head o v e r heels, P u s s . '
I w e n t about my ablutions, tonguing my arsehole with the impeccable hygienic integrity of cats, one leg stuck in the air like a ham bone; I
choose to remain silent. L o v e ? What has my rakish master, for w h o m
I've j u m p e d t h r o u g h the w i n d o w of every brothel in the city, besides
haunting the virginal back garden of the convent and g o d k n o w s what
other goatish errands, to do w i t h tender passion?
' A n d she. A princess in a t o w e r . R e m o t e and shining as Aldebaran.
Chained to a dolt and d r a g o n - g u a r d e d . '
I w i t h d r e w my head f r o m my privates and fixed h i m w i t h my most
satiric smile; I dared h i m w a r b l e on in that strain.
' A l l cats are c y n i c s , ' he opines, quailing beneath my y e l l o w glare.
It is the hazard of it d r a w s him, see.
T h e r e is a lady sits in a w i n d o w for one hour and one hour only, at the
tenderest time of dusk. Y o u can scarcely see her features, the curtains
almost hide her; shrouded like a h o l y image, she l o o k s out on the piazza as
the shops shut up, the stalls go d o w n , the night c o m e s on. A n d this is all
the w o r l d she ever sees. N e v e r a girl in all B e r g a m o so secluded except,
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on Sundays, they let her go to Mass, bundled up in black, w i t h a veil on.
A n d then she is in the c o m p a n y of an aged hag, her keeper, w h o grumps
along grim as a prison dinner.
H o w did he see that secret face? W h o else but Puss revealed it?
B a c k we c o m e f r o m the tables so late, so very late at night we found, to
our emergent surprise that all at once it was early in the morning. His
pockets were heavy w i t h silver and both our guts sweetly a-gurgle w i t h
champagne; Lady Luck had sat w i t h us, what fine spirits w e r e we in!
Winter and cold weather. T h e pious trot to church already w i t h little
lanterns through the chill f o g as we go ungodly rolling h o m e .
See, a black barque, like a state funeral; and Puss takes it into his
bubbly-addled brain to board her. T a c k i n g obliquely to her side, I rub my
marmalade pate against her shin; h o w could any duenna, be she never so
stern, take offence at such attentions to her chargeling f r o m a little cat?
(As it turns out, this one: attishooo! does.) A white hand fragrant as Arabia
descends f r o m the black cloak and reciprocally rubs behind his ears at just
the ecstatic spot. Puss lets rip a roaring purr, rears briefly on his highheeled boots; j i g w i t h j o y and pirouette with glee - she laughs to see and
draws her veil aside. Puss glimpses high above, as it w e r e , an alabaster
lamp lit behind by d a w n ' s first flush: her face.
A n d she smiling.
For a m o m e n t , just that m o m e n t , y o u w o u l d have thought it was M a y
morning.
' C o m e along! C o m e ! D o n ' t dawdle over the nasty beast!' snaps the old
hag, with the one tooth in her mouth, and warts; she sneezes.
T h e veil comes d o w n ; so cold it is, and dark, again.
It was not I alone w h o saw her; with that smile he swears she stole his
heart.
Love.
I've sat inscrutably by and washed my face and sparkling dicky w i t h
my clever p a w while he made the beast with t w o backs w i t h every harlot
in the city, besides a n u m b e r of g o o d wives, dutiful daughters, rosy
country girls c o m e to sell celery and endive on the corner, and the
chambermaid w h o strips the bed, what's more. T h e M a y o r ' s w i f e , even,
shed her diamond earrings for him and the w i f e of the notary unshuffled
her petticoats and if I could, I w o u l d blush to remember h o w her
daughter shook out her flaxen plaits and j u m p e d in bed between them and
she not sixteen years old. B u t never the w o r d , 'love', has fallen f r o m his
lips, nor in nor out of any of these transports, until my master saw the
w i f e of Signor Panteleone as she w e n t w a l k i n g out to Mass, and she lifted
up her veil though not for him.
A n d n o w he is half sick w i t h it and will go to the tables no m o r e for lack
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of heart and never even pats the bustling r u m p of the chambermaid in his
n e w - f o u n d maudlin celibacy, so we get our slops left festering for days
and the sheets filthy and the w e n c h goes banging about bad-temperedly
with her b r o o m e n o u g h to fetch the plaster o f f the walls.
I'll swear he lives for Sunday morning, t h o u g h never before was he a
religious man. Saturday nights, he bathes himself punctiliously, even,
I'm glad to see, washes behind his ears, perfumes himself, presses his
uniform so y o u ' d think he had a right to w e a r it. So m u c h in love he very
rarely panders to the pleasures, even of O n a n , as he lies tossing on his
couch, for he cannot sleep for fear he miss the s u m m o n i n g bell. T h e n out
into the cold m o r n i n g , harking after that black, v a g u e shape, hapless
fisherman for his sealed oyster w i t h such a pearl in it. He creeps behind
her across the square; h o w can one so a m o r o u s bear to be so inconspicuous? A n d yet, he must; though, sometimes, the old hag sneezes and
says she swears there is a cat about.
He will insinuate h i m s e l f into the p e w behind milady and sometimes
contrive to touch the h e m of her garment, w h e n they all kneel, and never
a thought to his orisons; she is the divinity he's c o m e to worship. T h e n
sits silent, in a dream, till bed-time; w h a t pleasure is his c o m p a n y for me?
He w o n ' t eat, either. I b r o u g h t him a fine pigeon f r o m the inn kitchen,
fresh o f f the spit, parfumé avec tarragon, but he w o u l d n ' t touch it so I
crunched it up, bones and all, performing, as ever after meals, my
meditative toilette, I pondered, thus: one, he is in a fair w a y to ruining us
both by neglecting his business; t w o , l o v e is desire sustained by
unfulfilment. If I lead h i m to her bedchamber and there he takes his fill of
her lily-white, he'll be right as rain in t w o shakes and next day tricks as
usual.
T h e n Master and his Puss will soon be solvent once again.
Which, at the m o m e n t , very m u c h not, sir.
T h i s Signor Panteleone e m p l o y s , his only servant but the hag, a
kitchen cat, a sleek, spry tabby w h o m I accost. Grasping the slack of her
neck firmly b e t w e e n my teeth, I gave her the customary tribute of a few
firm thrusts of my striped loins and, w h e n she g o t her breath back, she
assured me in the friendliest fashion the old man was a fool and a miser
w h o kept herself on short c o m m o n s for the sake of the m o u s i n g and the
y o u n g lady a soft-hearted creature w h o s m u g g l e d breast of chicken and
sometimes, w h e n the hag-dragon-governess napped at midday, snatched
this pretty kitty out of the hearth and into her b e d r o o m to play w i t h reels
of silk and run after trailed handkerchiefs, w h e n she and she had as much
fun together as t w o Cinderellas at an all-girls' ball.
Poor, lonely lady, married so y o u n g to an old dodderer with his bald
pate and his g o g g l e eyes and his limp, his avarice, his gore belly, his
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rheumaticks, and his flag hangs all the time at half-mast indeed; and
jealous as he is impotent, tabby declares - he'd put a stop to all the rutting
in the w o r l d , if he had his w a y , j u s t to certify his y o u n g w i f e don't get
from another w h a t she can't get f r o m him.
T h e n shall we hatch a plot to antler him, my precious?'
N o t h i n g loath, she tells me the best time for this accomplishment
should be the one day in all the w e e k he forsakes his w i f e and his
counting-house to ride off into the country to extort more grasping rents
f r o m starveling tenant farmers. A n d she's left all alone, then, behind so
many bolts and bars y o u w o u l d n ' t believe; all alone - but for the hag!
Aha! This hag turns out to be the biggest snag; and iron-plated,
copper-bottomed, s w o r n man-hater of some sixty bitter winters w h o —
as ill luck w o u l d have it - shatters, clatters, erupts into p a r o x y s m s of the
sneeze at the very glimpse of a cat's whisker. No chance of Puss w o r m i n g
his w i n s o m e w a y into that one's affections, nor for my tabby neither! But,
oh my dear, I say; see h o w my ingenuity rises to the challenge . . . So we
resume the sweetest part of our conversation in the dusty convenience of
the coalhole and she promises me, least she can do, to see the fair,
hitherto-inaccessible one gets a letter safe if I slip it to her and slip it to her
forthwith I dó, t h o u g h s o m e w h a t d i s c o m m o d e d by my boots.
He spent three hours o v e r his letter, did my master, as long as it takes
me to lick the coaldust o f f my dicky. He tears up half a quire of paper,
splays five pen-nibs w i t h the force of his adoration: ' L o o k not for any
peace, my heart; having b e c o m e a slave to this beauty's tyranny, dazzled
am I by this sun's rays and my torments cannot be assuaged.' That's not
the high road to the r u m p l i n g of the bedcovers; she's g o t one ninny
between them already!
'Speak f r o m the heart,' I finally exhort. ' A n d all g o o d w o m e n have the
missionary streak, sir; convince her her orifice will be y o u r salvation and
she's y o u r s . '
'When I w a n t y o u r advice, Puss, I'll ask for it,' he says; all at once
hoity-toity. B u t at last he manages to pen ten pages; a rake, a profligate, a
card-sharper, a cashiered officer well on the w a y to rack and ruin w h e n
first he saw, as if it w e r e a glimpse of grace, her face . . . his angel, his
g o o d angel, w h o will lead him f r o m perdition.
O h , what a masterpiece he penned!
'Such tears she w e p t at his addresses!' says my tabby friend.
' O h , Tabs, she sobs - for she calls me " T a b s " - I never meant to wreak
such havoc with a pure heart w h e n I smiled to see a booted cat! A n d put his
paper next to her heart and swore, it was a good soul that sent her his v o w s
and she was too much in love with virtue to withstand him. If, she adds, for
she's a sensible girl, he's neither old as the hills nor ugly as sin, that is. '
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An admirable little note the lady's sent him in return, per Figaro here
and there; she adopts a responsive yet u n c o m p r o m i s i n g tone. For, says
she, h o w can she usefully discuss his passion further w i t h o u t a glimpse of
his person?
He kisses her letter once, twice, a thousand times; she must and will see
me! I shall serenade her this very evening!
So, w h e n dusk falls, o f f we trot to the piazza, he w i t h an old guitar he
p a w n e d his s w o r d to b u y and most, if I may say so, outlandishly rigged
out in s o m e kind of v a g a b o n d mountebank's outfit he bartered his g o l d braided wasitcoat w i t h p o o r Pierrot braying in the square for, m o o n struck zany, lovelorn loon he w a s himself and even plastered his face
w i t h flour to m a k e it white, p o o r fool, and so ram h o m e his heartsick
state.
T h e r e she is, the evening star w i t h the clouds around her; but such a
creaking of carts in the square, such a clatter and crash as they dismantle
the stalls, such an ululation of ballad-singers and oration of nostrumpeddlers and pertubation of errand b o y s that t h o u g h he wails out his heart
to her: ' O h , my beloved!' w h y she, all in a dream, sits w i t h her gaze in the
middle distance w h e r e there's a crescent m o o n stuck on the sky behind
the cathedral pretty as a painted stage, and so is she.
D o e s she hear him?
N o t a grace-note.
D o e s she see him?
N e v e r a glance.
' U p y o u g o , Puss; tell her to look my w a y ! '
If rococo's a piece of cake, that chaste, tasteful, early Palladian stumped
m a n y a better cat than I in its time. A g i l i t y ' s not in it, w h e n it comes to
Palladian, daring alone will carry the day and, though the first storey's
graced w i t h a h e f t y caryatid w h o s e bulbous loincloth and tremendous
pects facilitate the first ascent, the D o r i c c o l u m n on her head proves a
horse of a different colour, I can tell y o u . Had I not seen my precious
T a b b y crouched in the gutter a b o v e me keening encouragement, I, even
I, m i g h t never have braved that flying, u p w a r d leap that b r o u g h t me, as if
Harlequin himself on wires, in one bound to her w i n d o w s i l l .
'Dear god!' the lady says, and j u m p s . I see she, too, ah, sentimental
thing! clutches a w e l l - t h u m b e d letter. 'Puss-in-boots!'
I b o w her w i t h a courtly flourish. What luck to hear no snifFor sneeze;
where's hag? A sudden flux sped her to the p r i v y - not a m o m e n t to lose.
' C a s t y o u r e y e b e l o w , ' I hiss. ' H i m y o u k n o w of lurks b e l o w , in white
w i t h the big hat, ready to sing y o u an evening ditty.'
T h e b e d r o o m d o o r creaks open, then, and: whee! through the air Puss
goes, discretion is the better part. A n d , for both their sweet sakes I did it,
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the sight of both their bright eyes inspired me to the never-beforeattempted, by me or any other cat, in boots or out of them - the deathd e f y i n g triple somersault!
A n d a three-storey drop to ground, what's more; a grand descent.
O n l y the merest trifle w i n d e d . I'm proud to say, I neatly land on all my
fours and T a b s goes w i l d , huzzah! B u t has my master witnessed my
triumph? Has he, my arse. He's tuning up that old mandolin and breaks,
as d o w n I come, again into his song.
I w o u l d never have said, in the normal course of things, his voice
w o u l d charm the birds out of the trees, like mine; and yet the bustle died
for him, the h o m e w a r d - t u r n i n g costers paused in their tracks to hearken,
the preening street girls f o r g o t their hard-edged smiles as they turned to
h i m and some of the old ones wept, they did.
Tabs, up on the r o o f there, prick up y o u r ears! For by its p o w e r I k n o w
my heart is in his voice.
A n d n o w the lady l o w e r s her eyes to him and smiles, as once she smiled
at me.
T h e n , bang! a stern hand pulls the shutters to. A n d it was as if all the
violets in all the baskets of all the flower-sellers drooped and faded at
once; and spring stopped dead in its tracks and might, this time, not c o m e
at all; and the bustle and the business of the square, that had so magically
quieted for his song, n o w rose up again with the harsh clamour of the loss
o f love.
A n d we trudge drearily o f f to dirty sheets and a mean supper of bread
and cheese, all I can steal him, but at least the poor soul manifests a hearty
appetite n o w she k n o w s he's in the w o r l d and not the ugliest of mortals;
for the first time since that fateful morning, sleeps sound. But sleep comes
hard to Puss tonight. He takes a midnight stroll across the square, soon
comfortably discusses a choice morsel of salt cod his tabby friend found
a m o n g the ashes on the hearth before our converse turns to other matters.
'Rats!' she says. ' A n d take y o u r boots off, y o u uncouth bugger; those
three-inch heels w r e a k h a v o c w i t h the soft flesh of my underbelly!'
W h e n w e ' d recovered ourselves a little, I ask her w h a t she means by
those 'rats' of hers and she proposes her scheme to me. H o w my master
must pose as a rat-catcher and I, his ambulant marmalade rat-trap. H o w we
will then go kill the rats that ravage milady's bedchamber, the day the old
fool goes to fetch his rent, and she can have her will of the lad at leisure for, if
there is one thing the hag fears more than a cat, it is a rat and she'll cower in a
cupboard till the last rat is off the premises before she comes out. O h , this
tabby one, sharp as a tack is she; I congratulate her ingenuity with a f e w
affectionate cuffs round the head and home again, for breakfast, ubiquitous
Puss, here, there and everywhere, w h o ' s your Figaro?
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Master applauds the rat ploy; but, as to the rats themselves; h o w are
they to arrive in the house in the first place? he queries.
' N o t h i n g easier, sir; my accomplice, a witty soubrette w h o lives among
the cinders, dedicated as she is to the young lady's happiness, will personally
strew a large number of dead and dying rats she has herself collected about
the bedroom of the said ingénue's duenna, and, most particularly, that o f t h e
said ingénue herself. This to be done t o m o r r o w morning, as soon as Sir
Pantaloon rides out to fetch his rents. By g o o d fortune, d o w n in the square,
plying for hire, a rat-catcher! Since our hag cannot abide either a rat or a cat,
it falls to milady to escort the rat-catcher, none other than yourself, sir, and
his intrepid hunter, myself, to the site of the infestation.
' O n c e y o u ' r e in her b e d r o o m , sir, if you don't k n o w w h a t to do, then I
can't help y o u . '
' K e e p y o u r f o u l thoughts to yourself, Puss.'
S o m e things, I see, are sacrosanct f r o m h u m o u r .
Sure e n o u g h , p r o m p t at five in the bleak next m o r n i n g , I observe with
my o w n eyes the l o v e l y lady's lubberly husband h u m p o f f on his horse
like a sack of potatoes to rake in his dues. W e ' r e ready w i t h our sign:
SIGNOR FURIOSO, THE LIVING DEATH OF RATS; and in the leathers he's
b o r r o w e d f r o m the porter, I hardly recognise h i m myself, not with the
false moustache. He coaxes the chambermaid with a f e w kisses - poor,
deceived girl! l o v e k n o w s no shame - and so we install ourselves under a
certain shuttered w i n d o w w i t h the great pile of traps she's lent us, the sign
of our profession, Puss perched atop them bearing the humble yet
determined l o o k of a s w o r n e n e m y of vermin.
W e ' v e not waited m o r e than fifteen minutes - and j u s t as well, as many
rat-plagued B e r g a m o t s approach us already and are not easily dissuaded
f r o m e m p l o y i n g us - w h e n the front door flies open on a lusty scream.
T h e hag, aghast, flings her arms round flinching Furioso; h o w fortuitous
to find him! B u t , at the w h i f f of me, she's sneezing so valiantly, her eyes
awash, the vertical gutters of her nostrils aswill w i t h snot, she barely can
depict the scenes inside, rattus domesticus dead in her bed and all; and
worse! in the Missus' r o o m .
So Signor Furioso and his questing Puss are ushered into the very
sanctuary of the goddess, our presence announced by a fanfare f r o m her
keeper on the nose harp. Attishhoooo!!!
S w e e t and pleasant in a morning g o w n of loose linen, our ingénue
j u m p s at the tattoo of my b o o t heels but recovers instantly and the
w h e e z i n g , h a w k i n g hag is in no state to sniffle m o r e than: ' A i n ' t I seen
that cat b e f o r e ? '
' N o t a c h a n c e , ' says my master. ' W h y , he's c o m e but yesterday with
m e from M i l a n o . '
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179
So she has to make do w i t h that.
My T a b s has lined the very stairs with rats; she's made a m o r g u e of the
hag's r o o m but something m o r e lively of the lady's. For s o m e of her prey
she's very cleverly not killed but crippled; a big black beastie weaves its
w a y towards us o v e r the turkey carpet, Puss, pounce! B e t w e e n screaming and sneezing, the hag's in a fine state, I can tell y o u , though milady
exhibits a most praiseworthy and collected presence of mind, being, I
guess, a y o u n g w o m a n of no small grasp so, perhaps, she has a sniff of the
plot already.
My master goes d o w n on hands and knees under the bed.
'My god!' he cries. 'There's the biggest hole, here in the wainscoting, I
ever saw in all my professional career! A n d there's an army of black rats
gathering behind it, ready to storm through! To arms!'
But, for all her terror, the hag's loath to leave the Master and me alone
to deal with the rats; she casts her eye on a silver-backed hairbrush, a coral
rosary, twitters, hovers, screeches, mutters until milady assures her,
amidst scenes of rising pandemonium:
'I shall stay here m y s e l f and see that Signor Furioso doesn't make o f f
with my trinkets. Y o u go and recover yourself w i t h an infusion of friar's
balsam and don't c o m e back until I call.'
T h e hag departs; quick as a flash, la belle turns the k e y in the door on
her and softly laughs; the naughty one.
Dusting the slut-fluff f r o m his knees, Signor Furioso n o w stands
s l o w l y upright; s w i f t l y , he removes his false moustache, for no element
of the farcical must mar this first, delirious encounter of these lovers,
must it. (Poor soul, h o w his hands tremble!)
A c c u s t o m e d as I am to the splendid, feline nakedness of my kind, that
offers no concealment of that soul made manifest in the flesh of lovers, I
am always a little m o v e d by the poignant reticence w i t h w h i c h humanity
shyly hesitates to divest itself of its clutter of concealing rags in the
presence of desire. So, first, these t w o smile, a little, as if to say ' H o w
strange to meet y o u here!' uncertain of a loving w e l c o m e , still. A n d do I
deceive myself, or do I see a tear a-twinkle in the corner of his eye? B u t
w h o is it steps towards the other first? W h y , she; w o m e n , I think, are, of
the t w o sexes, the m o r e keenly tuned to the sweet music of their bodies.
(A penny for my foul thoughts, indeed! D o e s she, that wise, grave
personage in the negligee, think y o u ' v e staged this grand charade merely
in order to kiss her hand?) B u t , then - oh, w h a t a pretty blush! steps back;
n o w it's his turn to take t w o steps forward in the saraband of Eros.
I could wish, though, they'd dance a little faster; the hag will soon
recover f r o m her spasms and shall she find them in flagrante?
His hand, then, trembling, upon her b o s o m ; hers, initially more
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hesitant, sequentially m o r e purposeful, u p o n his breeches. T h e n their
strange trance breaks; that sentimental havering done, I never saw t w o
fall to it w i t h such appetite. As if the w h i r l w i n d g o t into their fingers,
they strip each other bare in a t w i n k l i n g and she falls back on the bed,
s h o w s h i m the target, he displays the dart, scores an instant bullseye.
B r a v o ! N e v e r can that old bed have shook w i t h such a storm before. A n d
their sweet c h o k e d mutterings, p o o r things: 'I never . . .' ' M y darling
. . .' ' M o r e . . .' A n d etc. etc. E n o u g h to melt the thorniest heart.
He rises up on his e l b o w s once and gasps at me: ' M i m i c the murder of
the rats, Puss! M a s k the music of V e n u s w i t h that clamour of Diana!'
A - h u n t i n g we shall g o ! Loyal to the last, I play catch as catch can with
T a b ' s dead rats, g i v i n g the d y i n g the coup de grâce and baying with
resonant v i g o u r to d r o w n the extravagant screeches that break forth f r o m
that ( w h o w o u l d have suspected?) m o r e passionate y o u n g w o m a n as she
c o m e s o f f in fine style. (Full marks, Master.)
At that, the old hag c o m e s battering at the door. What's g o i n g on?
W h y f o r the racket? A n d the door rattles on its hinges.
'Peace!' cries S i g n o r Furioso. 'Haven't I j u s t n o w b l o c k e d the great
hole?'
B u t milady's in no hurry to don her s m o c k again, she takes her lovely
time about it; so full of pleasure gratified her languorous limbs y o u ' d
think her v e r y navel smiled. She pecks my master prettily t h a n k - y o u on
the cheek, w e t s the g u m on his false moustache w i t h the tip of her
strawberry t o n g u e and sticks it back on his upper lip for him, then lets her
wardress into the scene of the faux carnage with the m o s t modest and
irreproachable air in the w o r l d .
'See! Puss has slaughtered all the rats.'
I rush, purring proud, to greet the hag; instantly, her eyes o ' e r f l o w .
' W h y the bedclothes so disordered?' she squeaks, not quite blinded yet, by
phlegm and chose for her post from all the other applications on account of
her suspicious mind, even (oh, dutiful) when in grande peur des rats.
'Puss had a m i g h t y battle w i t h the biggest beast y o u ever saw upon this
very bed; can't y o u see the bloodstains on the sheets? A n d n o w , w h a t do
we o w e y o u , Signor Furioso, for this singular service?'
'A hundred ducats,' says I, quick as a flash, for I k n o w my master, left
to himself, w o u l d like an honourable fool, take nothing.
' T h a t ' s the entire household expenses for a month!' wails avarice's
well-chosen accomplice.
' A n d w o r t h every penny! For those rats w o u l d have eaten us out of
house and h o m e . ' I see the glimmerings of sturdy b a c k b o n e in this little
lady. ' G o , pay them f r o m y o u r private savings that I k n o w of, that y o u ' v e
s k i m m e d o f f the h o u s e k e e p i n g . '
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181
Muttering and m o a n i n g but nothing for it except to do as she is bid; and
the furious Sir and I take o f f a laundry basket full of dead rats as s o u v e n i r we drop it, plop! in the nearest sewer. A n d sit d o w n to one dinner
honestly paid for, for a w o n d e r .
But the y o u n g fool is o f f his feed again. Pushes his plate aside, laughs,
weeps, buries his head in his hands and, time and time and time again,
goes to the w i n d o w to stare at the shutters behind w h i c h his sweetheart
scrubs the blood a w a y and my dear T a b s rests f r o m her supreme
exertions. He sits, for a while, and scribbles; rips the page in four, hurls it
aside. I spear a falling fragment with a claw. Dear G o d , he's took to
writing poetry.
'I must and will have her for ever,' he exclaims.
I see my plan has c o m e to nothing. Satisfaction has not satisfied him;
that soul they both saw in one another's bodies has such insatiable hunger
no single meal could ever appease it. I fall to the toilette of my hinder
parts, my favourite stance w h e n contemplating the w a y s of the w o r l d .
' H o w can I live w i t h o u t her?'
Y o u did so for t w e n t y - s e v e n years, sir, and never missed her for a
moment.
'I'm burning w i t h the fever of love!'
T h e n w e ' r e spared the expense of fires.
'I shall steal her a w a y f r o m her husband to live w i t h m e . '
'What do y o u propse to live on, sir?'
'Kisses,' he said distractedly. 'Embraces.'
'Well, y o u w o n ' t g r o w fat on that, sir; though she will. A n d then, more
mouths to feed.'
'I'm sick and tired of y o u r foul-mouthed barbs, Puss,' he snaps. A n d
yet my heart is m o v e d , for n o w he speaks the plain, clear, foolish rhetoric
of love and w h o is there cunning enough to help him to happiness but I?
Scheme, loyal Puss, scheme!
My wash completed, I step out across the square to visit that charming
she w h o ' s w o r m e d her w a y directly into my o w n hitherto-untrammelled
heart with her sharp wits and her pretty w a y s . She exhibits w a r m
emotion to see me; and, oh! w h a t news she has to tell me! N e w s of a rapt
and personal nature, that turns my mind to thoughts of the future, and,
yes, domestic plans of most familial nature. She's saved me a pig's trotter,
a w h o l e entire pig's trotter the Missus s m u g g l e d to her w i t h a w i n k . A
feast! Masticating, I muse.
'Recapitulate,' I suggest, 'the daily motions of Sir Pantaloon w h e n he's
at home. '
T h e y set the cathedral clock by him, so rigid and so regular his habits.
Up at the crack, he meagrely breakfasts o f f yesterday's crusts and a cup of
182
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cold water, to spare the expense of heating it up. D o w n to his countinghouse, counting out his money, until a b o w l of well-watered gruel at
midday. T h e afternoon he devotes to usury, bankrupting, here, a small
tradesman, there, a w e e p i n g w i d o w , for fun and profit. Dinner's luxurious,
at four; soup, with a bit of rancid beef or a tough bird in it - he's an
arrangement with the butcher, takes unsold stock o f f his hands in return for
a shut mouth about a pie that had a finger in it. From four-thirty until fivethirty, he unlocks the shutters and lets his wife look out, oh, don't I k n o w !
while hag sits beside her to make sure she doesn't smile. ( O h , that blessed
flux, those precious loose minutes that set the game in motion!)
A n d while she breathes the air of evening, w h y , he checks up on his
chest of gems, his bales of silk, all those treasures he loves too much to
share w i t h daylight and if he wastes a candle w h e n he so indulges himself,
w h y , any man is entitled to one little extravagance. A n o t h e r draught of
A d a m ' s ale healthfully concludes the day; up he tucks besides Missus and,
since she is his prize possession, consents to finger her a little. He
palpitates her hide and slaps her flanks: 'What a g o o d bargain!' A l a c k , can
do no more, not w i s h i n g to profligate his natural essence. A n d so drifts
o f f to sinless slumber amid the prospects of t o m o r r o w ' s gold.
' H o w rich is he?'
'Croesus.'
' E n o u g h to keep t w o l o v i n g couples?'
'Sumptuous.'
Early in the uncandled m o r n i n g , g r o p i n g to the p r i v y bleared with
sleep, w e r e the old man to place his foot upon the subfusc yet volatile fur
of a s h a d o w - c a m o u f l a g e d y o u n g tabby cat —
' Y o u read m y thoughts, m y l o v e . '
I say to my master: ' N o w , y o u get y o u r s e l f a doctor's g o w n ,
impedimenta all complete or I'm done with y o u . '
'What's this, Puss?'
' D o as I say and never mind the reason! T h e less y o u k n o w of w h y , the
better.'
So he expends a f e w of the hag's ducats on a black g o w n with a white
collar and his skull cap and his black bag and, under my direction, makes
himself another sign that announces, with all due p o m p o s i t y , h o w he is Il
Famed Dottore: Aches cured, pains prevented, bones set, graduate of Bologna,
physician extraordinary. He demands to k n o w , is she to play the invalid to
g i v e h i m further access to her bedroom?
'I'D clasp her in my arms and j u m p out of the w i n d o w ; we too shall
both perform the triple somersault of l o v e . '
' Y o u j u s t mind y o u r o w n business, sir, and let me mind it for y o u after
m y o w n fashion.'
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183
Another raw and misty morning! Here in the hills, will the weather
ever change? So bleak it is, and dreary; but there he stands, grave as a
sermon in his black g o w n and half the market people c o m e with coughs
and boils and broken heads and I dispense the plasters and the vials of
coloured water I'd forethoughtfully s t o w e d in his bag, he too agitato to
sell for himself. (And, w h o k n o w s , might we not have stumbled on a
profitable profession for future pursuit, if my present plans miscarry?)
Until d a w n shoots his little yet h o w flaming a r r o w past the cathedral
on w h i c h the clock strikes six. At the last stroke, that famous door flies
open once again and - eeeeeeeeeeeeech! the hag lets rip.
' O h , D o c t o r , oh, D o c t o r , c o m e quick as y o u can; our g o o d man's
taken a sorry tumble!'
A n d w e e p i n g fit to float a smack, she is, so doesn't see the doctor's
apprentice is most colourfully and completely furred and whiskered.
T h e old b o o b y ' s flat out at the foot of the stair, his head at an acute angle
that might turn chronic and a big bunch of keys, still, grinned in his right
hand as if they w e r e the keys to heaven marked: Wanted on voyage. A n d
Missus, in her wrap, bends over him with a pretty air of concern.
'A fall - ' she begins w h e n she sees the doctor but stops short w h e n she
sees y o u r servant, Puss, l o o k i n g as suitably d o w n - i n - t h e - m o u t h as his
chronic smile will let him, h u m p i n g his master's stock-in-trade and
h a w i n g like a sawbones. ' Y o u , again,' she says, and can't forbear to
giggle. B u t the dragon's too blubbered to hear.
My master puts his ear to the old man's chest and shakes his head
dolefully; then takes the mirror f r o m his pocket and puts it to the old
man's mouth. N o t a breath clouds it. O h , sad! O h , s o r r o w f u l !
'Dead, is he?' sobs the hag. ' B r o k e his neck, has he?'
A n d she slyly makes a little grab for the keys, in spite of her wellorchestrated distress; but Missus slaps her hand and she gives over.
'Let's get h i m to a softer bed,' says Master.
He ups the corpse, carries it aloft to the r o o m we k n o w full well,
bumps Pantaloon d o w n , twitches an eyelid, taps a kneecap, feels a pulse.
'Dead as a doornail,' he pronounces. 'It's not a doctor y o u want, it's an
undertaker.'
Missus has a handkerchief very dutifully and correctly to her eyes.
' Y o u just run along and get o n e , ' she says to hag. ' A n d then I'll read the
will. Because don't think he's forgotten you, thou faithful servant. O h ,
m y goodness, n o . '
So o f f goes hag; y o u never saw a w o m a n of her accumulated
Christmases spring so fast. As soon as they are left alone, no trifling, this
time; they're at it, h a m m e r and tongs, d o w n on the carpet since the bed is
occupé. Up and d o w n , up and d o w n his arse; in and out, in and out her
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legs. T h e n she heaves him up and throws h i m on the back, her turn at the
grind, n o w , and y o u ' d think she'll never stop.
Toujours discret, Puss occupies himself in unfastening the shutters and
t h r o w i n g the w i n d o w s open to the beautiful beginning of morning in
w h o s e lively yet fragrant air his sensitive nostrils catch the first and vernal
hint of spring. In a f e w m o m e n t s , my dear friend j o i n s me. I notice
already — or is it o n l y my fond imagination? - a charming n e w portliness in
her gait, hitherto so elastic, so spring-heeled. A n d there we sit upon the
w i n d o w s i l l like the t w o genii and protectors of the house; ah, Puss, your
rambling days are o v e r . Í shall b e c o m e a hearthrug cat, a fat and cosy
cushion cat, sing to the m o o n no more, settle at last amid the sedentary
j o y s of a domesticity we t w o , she and I, have so richly earned.
T h e i r cries of rapture rouse me f r o m this pleasant revery.
T h e hag chooses, naturellement, this tender if outrageous m o m e n t to
return w i t h the undertaker in his chiffoned topper, plus a brace of mutes
black as beetles, g l u m as bailiffs, bearing the elm b o x between them to
take the corpse a w a y in. B u t they cheer up something w o n d e r f u l at the
unexpected spectacle before them and he and she conclude their amorous
interlude amidst roars of approbation and torrents of applause.
B u t w h a t a racket the hag makes! Police, murder, thieves! Until the
Master chucks her purseful of gold back again, for a gratuity. (Meanwhile, I note that sensible y o u n g w o m a n , mother-naked as she is has yet
the presence of mind to catch hold of her husband's key ring and sharply
tug it f r o m his sere, cold grip. O n c e she's g o t the k e y s secure, she's in
charge of all.)
' N o w , no m o r e of y o u r nonsense!' she snaps to hag. 'If I hereby give
y o u the sack, y o u ' l l get a handsome gift to go along w i t h y o u for n o w ' flourishing the k e y s - 'I am a rich w i d o w and here' - indicating to all my
bare yet blissful master - 'is the y o u n g man w h o ' l l be my second
husband.'
When the governess f o u n d Signor Panteleone had indeed remembered
her in his will, left her a keepsake of the cup he drank his m o r n i n g water
f r o m , she made not a squeak more, pocketed a fat sum w i t h thanks and,
sneezing, took herself o f f w i t h no more cries of ' m u r d e r ' neither. T h e old
b u f f o o n briskly bundled in his coffin and buried; Master comes into a
great fortune and Missus rounding out already and they as happy as pigs
in plunk.
B u t my T a b s beat her to it, since cats don't take m u c h time about
engendering; three fine, n e w - m i n t e d ginger kittens, all complete with
s n o w y socks and shirtfronts, tumble in the cream and tangle Missus's
knitting and put a smile on every face, not j u s t their mother's and proud
PUSS-IN-BOOTS
185
father's for T a b s and I smile all day long and, these days, we put our
hearts in it.
So may all y o u r w i v e s , if y o u need them, be rich and pretty; and all
y o u r husbands, if y o u w a n t them, be y o u n g and virile; and all y o u r cats as
w i l y , perspicacious and resourceful as:
PUSS-IN-BOOTS.